The ER
by Skyskater
Summary: In the ER, it's my job to save lives. I've seen people die right in front of me; I've had to tell parents their child has died. But there was one man who changed me forever; a man I couldn't save. UlquixGrimm
1. Prologue

**This is yet another Ulquiorra x Grimmjow story. Or Grimmjow X Ulquiorra. Whatever you want to look at it as. **

**The reason I'm writing all these angsty fics and ficlets is, as those of you will know if you have read a few of my stories, because one of my best friends was taken by the Lord a few days ago by cancer. Choriocarcinoma. Writing helps me feel better, so, yeah. Expect twelve more of these angsty fic/ficlets including this one.**

* * *

I pulled off my latex gloves with a soft 'snap' and smiled kindly at the little girl whose cut I had just stitched up. She looked at me curiously, then smiled back. I usually got that kind of reaction from kids. I mean, it kind of takes you a while to get used to the scars I have on my face; the scars that I got from an abusive childhood. But it's still a smile, and it makes my day.

"So, dear, would you like a lollipop?"  
She nods and I tell her to go out to the receptionist and ask for a lollipop and a sticker. "And tell her that Mr. Schiffer sent you."

She nods again, smiling larger now, and hops off the makeshift operating table. I turned to her father and said, "That will be a hundred bucks, up front, please."

He pulled out his wallet and fished out five twenties, handing them over gratefully. Now, people don't exactly like to part with their hard earned money, but this man, well, let's just say he cared very much for his precious little girl.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Schiffer, I don't know how to thank you enough," he said, wringing my hand up and down. "It was all an accident, you see. My dear little Kaori, I guess, got a finger in the garbage disposal while it was still running. At least it wasn't too serious and you were able to save her, to heal her."

"It wasn't exactly a life or death matter, Mr. Itou. Your little girl would have been perfectly fine either way. Oh, and by the way, you will need to come back in a week so that we can get the stitches removed. Those aren't the dissolvable kinds. I mean, removing stitches doesn't hurt, but we advise you to be here in the operating room with her while it's going on because kids just don't like it when you go at them with stuff."

"Alright then." He beams, shakes my hand one more time, and leaves the room.

I sigh, rubbing my left eye with a knuckle. It's 11 o'clock in the morning, and I've been working since the wee hours of the night. At least my shift will be over soon, and I can go home and get some rest until they call me back in.

This is what I do. I'm currently in medical training to become a plastic surgeon, you know, the people who do breast jobs and face lifts and fixing hare lips, that kind of stuff. The ER rotations are part of my clinical work, or residency. Basically, if you don't know what people like me do in the ER, basically, it's all about saving lives. Saving lives and saving people.

Alright, I'll admit that the hours aren't that great. You could be called in at any time to do anything, whether it be a small cut or a gunshot wound from gang violence. Well, alright, if it isn't your shift, you're only called in for really big things, like gunshots. Not small cuts.

Working in the ER is not actually as traumatizing as many people think it is. Yes, there is always a sense of pressure on you, a sense of knowing that your patient could die while you operate on them. But being an ER surgeon removes you from a lot of emotions, in a way. You can't cry when you're frustrated because you don't know what to do, you can't break down during a surgery when you know that your patient isn't going to live. You can't waste time mourning with the parents of a child who's died on the operating table. You just can't allow yourself to feel any of those emotions, because the more time you waste, the more lives go down the drain.

I have had people die when I was operating on them before, yes. A small child who was run over by a car. A rape victim. A suicidal patient brought in by friends. A man who had gotten into a barfight. And many more. Most of them have died while I was trying to save them, a few of them have died on the way to the ER, and I have also saved many of them. And am I sad? Yes. Yes I am. It's my job to save lives, and when I can't do it, yes, it's frustrating and saddening all at the same time. But it's not like I could waste time crying my eyes out in the bathroom. It's touch and go.

I guess that I get a certain high out of working from the ER. I actually enjoy it. I like the sense of knowing that it's always rush rush rush, that you don't have to be a perfectionist to work in the ER. I mean, your main goal is to save the patient's life. If you worry about whether this stitch is crooked or whatever, then you'll never make it in the ER. All you have to do is save their life. That's all. You can worry about consulting a plastic surgeon after you save them to fix their face or whatever. And I like knowing that I can save people; that I have some small modicum of control over what I do. It's invigorating and exhilarating.

But one night in the wee hours of the morning, there was a man. A man who kept coming back for the same fierce problems. And...I couldn't save him. Sure, you're probably thinking, 'Oh, he's like all the other ones, I'll bet.' But he wasn't. There was something about him. I don't know if it was his fighting personality, the way he tried to keep cheerful with his sarcastic sense of humor, I really don't know what it was that attracted me to him.

My name is Ulquiorra Schiffer, and I no longer have dreams of becoming a plastic surgeon. I have decided to remain on at the ER. Why, you ask? Because of the man I mentioned up above and because of how he changed my life. Let me tell you the story of a certain Mr. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, and his brave and courageous struggle against testicular cancer.


	2. The First Encounter

**Along the way, this story will probably get more depressing as it goes on, because most of the events that happen in this story will have happened to me.**

**Here, I think my reviewer Satscout deserves some sort of special attention because of all her help with this story. (I couldn't have written a medical story without her; she's the one who actually has some form of medical knowledge. =D) Seriously, you guys, if Satscout never came by me, then this story would not be at all realistic and God knows I'd probably write some serious BS. Please note that Emmalax is not actually a real drug.**

**For those who don't know, testicular cancer is what Lance Armstrong had. And God thank Wikipedia, too. Seriously. It's fairly reliable, and I doubt a little third grader with a modem would edit a page about testicular cancer.**

* * *

Alright, fine, so this man I mentioned previously, Mr. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, our first encounter was not actually because of his symptoms of testicular cancer. No. Our first meeting was because of something much more trivial, something that I could actually stitch up. He had been in a barfight and, well, someone stabbed him. In the chest. And at first glance, you'd think, "Oh, he's not going to make it. Oh, that knife probably punctured a lung or something."

If you looked closer, you'd see that the knife hadn't actually gone in so deep as to even come close to puncture a lung or injure the heart. It just looked pretty deep because of all the blood. And at first I thought he was just one of those drunks who kept getting hurt and had to keep coming back. Like any other one.

But Grimmjow was different, for some reason. I don't know exactly what it was, but as I injected Emmalax, a local drug to numb his body, he looked at me, and I saw that his eyes weren't all glossed over, like a drunk person. And when he talked, he was actually perfectly coherent.

"So, then, is it bad?"  
"No. You'll live."  
"What's with all the rush then?"  
"First, there are other patients BESIDEs you. You just got priority because you were stabbed. Second, I'm going to stitch you up so that you don't lose too much blood."

"Ah. I see."

The nurses that were SUPPOSED to be helping me with sewing him up (there are often two or three people working on one patient at any given time) were on their coffee break. Some help they were. But as one rushed by to get a refill on her coffee and bagel and feed quarters into the vending machine, she popped her head in and said, "You don't get that very often. A drunk who can talk straight, eh, Schiffer? Not like his lover out in the waiting room." Yeah. I'd had to remove the Carrot Top because he was being so emotional that he was sobbing like it was the end of the world. It was getting annoying, and distracting, hence I booted him out to the waiting room.

I rolled my eyes and calmly started to stitch the cut on his chest. He watched in mild interest.

"This what you do all day?"  
"Not all day. Just from now until 11."  
"Wow...that's like, almost twelve hours right there. How the fuck do you manage to do that?"  
I thought about that for a second, musing as my hands worked on auto pilot. "I don't know. I just do it."

"I'd probably go freaking insane if I worked here."  
"It's not too bad. You get used to it after a while, I suppose. Please stay still."

I leaned closer, hovering over his chest, trying to see better. He laughed, and the vibrations made my hands tingle and the sound was soft and comforting compared to all the screams that you tend to hear in the ER. You don't get very many laughs. But this laugh was special. It sounded like rain on pavement to me after all the screams that sounded like nails on chalkboard.

"Ya know, I'd get into more barfights if I knew I'd be in this position every time I came here." His electric blue eyes swept over me and there was a sort of chill that ran up and down my spine. A good one, though. "You're actually pretty fine for someone who works in the ER. I mean, seriously. You don't look like those people who have some serious mental issues that work here, ya know? The ones who laugh at nothing and then talk to themselves while they're stitching someone up and look like they have major cases of bedhead. I'd tap ya."

He made me nervous, then; in a good way, of course. Not the kind of nervous where you think that the guy is gonna rape you on your own operating table, but the kind of nervous like someone has before their first date. I hurriedly finished the stitching, neatly snipped off the loose ends of the surgical thread, and said, "That will be a hundred dollars; please wait here while I go get your paperwork."

I hurried out of the room, my heart thudding in my chest. I'd never really felt this way before toward anyone. Yeah, sure, I've been in some serious like, heck, even lust, but nothing ever like this. It was love. And yeah, I know it's sick, and I know it's wrong, to fall in love with someone you've just stitched up at the ER, but I was in love. I don't know why and I don't know how.

One of the male nurses on coffee break called out to me, "Hey, Schiffer, getting it on with that bluenette in Room 2, huh?"  
Another male nurse comments, "Hell yeah. Seriously, Schiffer needs a vacation from the ER. What better way to get that than to flirt with a hot patient? I'd tap him."

I ignore both of them, get the clipboard of papers, and walk back to Room 2, where Carrot-Top has now entered. I don't remember asking him to come in, but I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. Soon enough they'll both be gone.

"Well, Mr...." I don't know how to pronounce his last name, and I certainly am not going to look like a fool by saying it wrong.  
"Jeagerjacques. As in Gee-Grr-Jacks."  
"Right. Well, Mr. Jeagerjacques, you will need to come back next week to have your stitches removed."

Carrot Top passes by me, and I guess while he was in the waiting room for all of 15 minutes, he managed to cry his heart out. His eyes were completely red. "Thanks," he says as he passes me, smiling coldly.

And then he leaves, pushing the clipboard into my chest, and his hand ever so slightly brushing against my elbow as he slides around me and out the door. "Well, then, Mr. Schiffer, I sincerely hope that we meet again," he said, a grin on his face as his electric blue eyes swept through me once again and then he was gone.

* * *

I do not think that he knew what those words meant when he said them at the time. I do not think that he knew how karma was going to be a total bitch and bite him in the ass.

And hey, I'll admit it: I would have been glad never to see him again. I'd have been glad to forego my one chance at love, if only it would have spared his life.


	3. Diagnosis

**To everybody who is reading this story and has put this on Favorite Stories: WHY HAVEN'T YOU REVIEWED?! It's annoying having people put this on their Fave Stories but NOT review!!!! But feel free to tell your friends about it. I love reviews.**

**If you are reading this story and you enjoy it, please send PM to Satscout and to AngelRiona, because without their help I wouldn't have been able to write something semi realistic. I realize this is fanfiction, but seriously now. Please thank them and spread the love!**

**This story is designed to keep as true to her story as possible, so do not think that some of these events could not happen; because THEY CAN. And if you're gonna donate to any charities, donate to a charity that helps support families and children with terminal illness. And don't ask why I have Kaien in this story. I had Ichigo didn't I? Except Kaien is gonna be in here long term**

* * *

About a month went by after that first experience, and I still hadn't forgotten him. Heck, he'd probably forgotten all about me; I was just a nobody to him. A nobody who happened to be "fine" and who just had the good luck to stitch him up in the ER.

The next time we met, I was on a clinic/ER rotation. A clinic/ER rotation basically meant that three days of the week I'd be at the clinic, giving kids flu shots, physicals, treating sick patients. The other four days, or nights, were spent at the ER, helping save lives. Frankly, if I had to choose which one of those I'd pick, I'd rather be in the ER. Yeah, sure, I get wacky sleep hours, but it's sure as hell a lot more interesting than working in the clinic.

But if I hadn't been on that rotation a month after I met Grimmjow, then I would never have seen him again. And alright, I'll admit it: I wanted to see him again. However, the circumstances I saw him under were not the good ones that I had hoped for.

* * *

I will say one thing for him, before I proceed on with this entry: Grimmjow was a very brave and tough man; you know, your traditional male stereotype: Can't complain; suck it up, blah blah blah. But he was also VERY, VERY stupid. Emphasis on the verys.

* * *

When we met again, it was Christmas. Needless to say, while I was passing through the lobby to get another cup of water to keep me hydrated, I saw a flash of bright blue hair, looked, and promptly dropped the paper cup. Yep. It's probably a good thing we had a janitor there that day.

But yeah. Our clinic was one of the few that was open on Christmas and other holidays, and since I didn't have anyone to go home to, anyone to exchange presents with, I figured I may as well work here. It probably wouldn't have been too busy anyway.

He filled out his paperwork, gave it to the receptionist, who gave it to me (mind you, I was still standing there stock-still in the middle of the lobby, a puddle of water and a paper cup at my feet and just staring at him like there was no tomorrow) and said, "Jesus, don't catch flies there, alright?"

Well, anyway, so I once again had the responsibility of taking care of him. I mean, it's not like I minded it or anything. In fact, I'd take care of him 365 (366 on leap years) days of the year if I could just be in close proximity with him. However, this time...I wasn't so sure about that last statement.

* * *

"So, Mr. Jeagerjacques -"  
"Just call me Grimmjow already."

"Alright, Grimmjow, so can you tell me why you are here today?"  
"It's on the paper."  
"Yes, I realize that, but I would like to hear you say it."

"Well then, Dr. Schiffer. I've been having...pain in, like, my lower stomach and that place between your legs where you're not supposed to feel pain unless someone's kicked you there, I'm tired all the time even though I get lots of sleep, I have not had interest in sex, which is pretty rare for me, and when I do have sex, there's blood. Oh yeah, AND I'm single. Just comes with the package of sexual withdrawal, I guess."

He's flirting with me. Oh Lord have mercy on my soul. At least Carrot Top is out of the picture. And it's only the third chapter. I have some serious talent.

"Alright then. How long ago did this pain start?"  
"About...a month, month and a half ago."  
"AND YOU DIDN'T COME SOONER?!" I whisper-shouted to him.  
"Well, I didn't think it was serious!"

"You RETARD! If you're having pain in your lower stomach and groin for a month and a half that NEVER went away, wouldn't you think something was WRONG?!"  
"Well, no...."

I can't help but get mad at him. Seriously. Think about it this way: If your loved one had an internal ache and then didn't go to the doctor for a month and a half, wouldn't you get mad at them too?

"Okay, Grimmjow, you shouldn't have waited this long to see a doctor; please wait here while I fill out your electronic form."

I'm as cool as a cucumber on the outside, but inside, I'm panicking. Alright. I know I'm not exactly a cancer specialist, or urologist, but Lord, I do pride myself on having a general knowledge of what cancer is. And...well, loss of interest in sex, particularly in someone like him (a 20 year old shouldn't have loss of interest in sex what with hormones and everything) and while having sex there is blood in the semen is NOT normal. Not to mention having abdominal pain for a month and a half isn't normal either.

I filled out his electronic form, and while I was waiting for it to print, I walked down the hall to where all the specialized doctors are. Thankfully, there was a urologist there today. Why he was here, I actually do not know that, because he should have either been at home or he should have been working somewhere else. But I was pretty grateful for it anyway.

"Dr. Shiba, I was hoping to run into you!"  
"While it is nice that people are looking for me, I must ask you why you aren't at home celebrating Christmas?"  
"Nobody to go to. Besides, there's someone here I'd like you to look at."

* * *

We're back in the room now, and I can tell he isn't the least bit fazed by Dr. Kaien the Urologist. I mean, honestly, that guy could be pretty freaky if you wanted him to be. Not freaky as in the...monster lookalike freak category, but freaky in the fact that he's always calm. Heck, he could have a dying baby on his hands and he'd still be calm even while that thing was screaming its lungs out.

I'd already explained the symptoms to him and, well, he said not to worry about it, because it would probably turn out for the better.

"Mr. Jeagerjacques, considering the symptoms you have undergone, it was quite, to put it frankly, idiotic -"  
"Yes, I know, Dr. Schiffer here has already chewed me out. So what do I have?"  
"As of right now, I could be wrong, it appears as though you have testicular cancer."

"...In ENGLISH please?"  
"Okay. Basically, you have a malignant growth in one of your testicles."  
"...like that one biker dude?"

"Yes, like Lance Armstrong. But anyway, there is a malignant growth in one of them and this is causing your symptoms. Assuming that it has not metastasized, or spread to other parts of your body, we will be able to cure you. Yes, you will be short one, but you'll still be able to lead a perfectly normal life and you will still be able to have children. HOWEVER, we would need you to undergo several tests so that we could determine the location of this tumor and the size. We would also need you to take CT scans to see if the cancer has spread. We would also need a blood test from you."

"So...can you just give me the percentage of survival?"  
"Since I do not know what stage your cancer is in because we have not conducted any tests yet, I would say that you have a 90 percent or more chance of survival. But we are not sure at this current point."

* * *

Okay, ninety percent plus was a pretty good number to me. And I was greatly relieved.

However, I was still worried about him. I mean, there's always the ten percent that die. I was worried he was going to be one of those ten percent. Turns out I was right.


	4. Nine Months

**Once again, many many thanks to Satscout for helping me write this story. God knows I would've made up some major bullshit of the third degree if I had been doing this alone. Not to mention I'd have to do a ton more research...and I don't do research. Plus finals are coming up, so I'm somewhat brain dead from all the studying I've been doing. ARGH! I HATE ALGEBRA II!!!!!!! Why does the world hate me...I know. It's because I'm a freshman.**

**After much contemplation for who my cancer specialist will be...I have chosen...DUN DUN DUN...STARK. Why? Who knows! But I did. Live with it.**

* * *

You know, I find my life pretty ironic. Seriously. First, the guy who I like/lust after/love was diagnosed with testicular cancer on Christmas. I almost got hit by a car on New Year's. And now, Grimmjow was back in the ER...AGAIN...on EASTER. What the hell! I mean, in all seriousness, considering the way my life had been going, I would not have been surprised to get married to someone on September 11. That's how bad it was. Not to mention my mother chewed me out on Thanksgiving the year before because she thought I was anorexic and going to starve myself so I could be famous. Yes. My own mother did that.

Anyway, so in between Christmas and Easter of the following year, I had been pretty relaxed about Grimmjow's situation. I mean, Kaien, who's been working with cancer patients for some time now, was confident that Grimmjow would survive, minus one testicle. Like Lance Armstrong. Heck, that guy went on to win seven Tour de Frances or whatever. I was pretty sure Grimmjow would pull through.

He was back in the ER for a rather stupid reason: He'd fallen down the stairs (sharp ones, I'm assuming) and got a gash on his forehead. And not the one that you can just slap a Band-Aid on and you'll be good to go. No. This one needed stitches, like the other cut he had the first time we met.

I had his medical history pulled up on the computer so I could put the wound and how to go about treating it into proper context. Well, okay, fine. It was just stitches, but still. I was semi-worried about him, so I was glad to see that he had had an orchietomy (or, to put it in English for those of you too lazy to crack open a dictionary every once in a while), so basically he'd had one of his testicles removed. The diseased one.

(On a very random side note: Yes, I do realize that this story is rather rushed, but many things happened to Grimmjow in quite a short period of time; and I don't actually know how long I'm going to last writing this story. It's...very hard for me to write about. But, you know, I thought he was brave. People write things about people who have long and courageous battles in life against deadly diseases, and while people may not have known him very well, I think...that he's worth remembering. So, I apologize for this story being rushed. Very sincerely.)

Anyway, while I was stitching his forehead up, he just kept staring at me. You know, like with an electric stare that makes you feel all..tingly inside and everything and makes you feel like there's actually something worth living for in this world? Yeah. That's what his was like. Except it seems that EVERY time he looks at me, it's like that.

"So, how you been...Dr?"  
"Just call me Ulquiorra already. God knows you're in here enough."  
"Alright then. Ulquiorra. How are you?"  
"I'm fine. And you?"  
"I'm all right."

"And...what of the cancer?"  
"Well, I am now minus a ball, but I think you already know that. Um...turns out that the cancer meta...meta...that really long fancy word for the cancer spreading to other parts of your body."

I tried to keep my cool, and it was working. Well, I thought it was working, at least. He, apparently, didn't think so.

"Oh, look at you, that's precious! You're worried about me!"  
"No, I'm not. It would be very unprofessional for an ER surgeon to worry about a patient."  
"Well then...what say you that after your shift ends at eleven, we be unprofessional and have lunch somewhere? My treat. I know you gotta have a whole shitload of student loans anyway." Holy shit. I can't believe he remembered when my shift ends.

One of the nurses (why is it that I can never have a peaceful moment with my patients?) pops her head in and says, "Oh, Ulquiorra would LOVE to go with you!" before I can even answer.

"Well, then, that's great!" he says, grinning up at me. An upside down grin.  
"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just let me finish stitching you up and then we'll talk about it."

Wipe off the blood, snip off the thread, charge him for a hundred dollars, and that is that. It's over.

And, well, we did go to lunch together after my shift was over. And alright, if I may say so myself, I would assume that that was Grimmjow's way to ask for a date. God knows there's worse people out there; you know, the kinds that just stand around and talk for hours without actually getting to the point or the ones that just practically jump you to get you out of the house and go somewhere with them.

But it was nice. It was nice. And I was happy. I think he was the first person I smiled at that year. And during the dates that followed, during which we shared hugs and kisses, exchanged keys and things like that and with him frequenting the ER waiting for me to get off my shift, his cancer was pushed to the near back of my mind.

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if I could have paid more attention to what was going on. I could have followed up with Kaien on Grimmjow's cancer's progress; I think I could have been more knowledgeable to what was going on with my, then, significant other at the time.

I was an ER surgeon, not someone who worked in the clinic even though I took clinic rotations sometimes. So this meant that I was probably sleeping off the night while Grimmjow got chemotherapy and MRI scans and bone scans. I should have spent more time with him. A lot more time than I had spent with him then.

Grimmjow's cancer had metatasized, or spread to different areas of his body. I think he was holding back information so that he didn't hurt me. There was one day when I was on my clinic rotation that I ran into Stark, however. Grimmjow's cancer specialist. He knew that Grimmjow and I were dating, and I think he knew that I wanted to know just what the hell was going on. I didn't bother to check the medical records. I wanted to hear it from someone who actually knew what he was talking about. He told me this:

"Ulquiorra, I know you'll probably be pissed off at me for telling you this, but this is something that you should know. Even if you're not family, you're still close to him, and you should probably hear this.

"Grimmjow has a very, very rare cancer. If you took, let's say, a hundred men between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five, only one of them would have the cancer he has. Maybe not even. Grimmjow has Stage IV Testicular Choriocarcinoma."  
"Will he survive?" It was a necessary question, although I did not want to ask it at the time.

"Well, Ulquiorra, I'm not going to lie to you. Germ cell tumors in themselves are rare, occuring only in one to two percent of all male malignant cancers. To have...Testicular Choriocarninoma is EXTREMELY rare. People can survive, yes, but...it's a very fast-moving and deadly cancer."  
"How many stages of cancer are there?"

He didn't want to respond to that one, but I forced him: "Tell me! I need to know!"

"Well...Ulquiorra," he looked down at his feet for a moment, then looked back up at me, "There are four stages. Grimmjow's in the worst one."

"If you had to give an estimate of how long he would live, what would you give him?"  
"I prefer not to make estimates -"  
"I'm dating the guy, for God's sakes! I would like to know how long I could expect, if I have to expect, I would have time to spend with him!"

"If we really had to estimate how much time Grimmjow had left, I would say nine months." He rested his hand in his forehead. "Now, Ulquiorra, please. I don't want, and I'm sure you don't want, or need, to hear about this. There isn't a guarantee if he will die. He could pull through. Just pray for a miracle."

* * *

I prayed. I really, really did.

And yet, it still wasn't enough to save him.


	5. Our Blog

**Please note that while this is testicular cancer we're talking about, that does not mean that my friend had ovarian cancer or anything. Also, this story, while about...parts (LOL), is not, on the contrary, about sex. I just thought people should know that...there are some people on this site who are very...anal about that. Seriously. If you have, like, the word testicular in a story, they want you to change it to M. I am NOT going to change this to an M-rated story, BECAUSE THERE IS NO SEX! Alright. There's my little rant. I'm done now.**

**Now, if you don't like reading stories with semi-gore in it (actually, this story isn't like the gore where...I don't know, some abusive lover rips out the girl's tongue or whatever, the gore in here isn't like that. Far from it.) skip this chapter or turn around and go back. Even though I don't want you to, I'm not gonna make you hate me for forcing you to read something you don't want to.**

**Thanks to Satscout and all my other reviewers for giving me advice and reviews! =D**

* * *

The first major incident that happened to Grimmjow was...well, it was scary to say the least. I mean, there aren't words to describe it. I am assuming that not very many of you have had a traumatic experience of this level, so I will just say to you: Imagine the worst thing that has ever happened to you or to someone you know, and multiply by ten. Maybe a hundred. It was just that bad.

He had been admitted to the hospital some days before the incident, and while I visited him frequently, I still had work in the ER to do at night and research during the day. During those days, he had a constant fever, was on pain medication, and as a result, we weren't exactly able to have a coherent conversation. When we did talk, it was often one-sided, and it was often me telling him that everything would be okay, that he'd pull through this, and that we'd live long and happily together.

And yeah, sometimes I was there when he was getting his scans or whatever; usually I was sleeping, and his specialists and oncologists and god knows who else never called me when he went in, because there was nothing worth relating and he told them that he didn't want them to wake me up. That time, they did call me, and I remember Stark's exact words:

"Ulquiorra Schiffer, I realize that I am acting very unprofessional, but since Grimmjow has passed out, it shall not matter anyway: **Get the fuck over here! Right now!"**

So I grabbed my coat, stuffed on shoes, and just ran out the door. The clinic wasn't that far from where we lived, and I couldn't afford a car anyway.

I was there in two minutes flat, out of breath and with a major stitch in my side. I ran up to the third floor, not bothering to wait for the elevator. I was...really panicked. I thought he was going to DIE. Even though Stark had estimated nine months, I figured that things like this could happen; and would happen. I feared that instead of 9 more months with Grimmjow I would only have had two.

I almost passed out when I got into the room. And now, for an ER surgeon, you have to know something's seriously bad if they almost pass out on the floor. I mean, I could deal with gunshots, rape victims, whatever you wanted to throw at me, but THAT?

He was hooked up to a bunch of tubes and machines that monitored his heart rate; the tubes had a sort of reddish clear liquid in them. Even though he was passed out, he looked strained. Strained and tense. I remember turning to Stark and asking him what the hell was going on with him. The reply I got was just...terrifying:

"I have good news, and I have bad news. He probably did not tell you this because he didn't want to upset you or freak you out or whatever, but the cancer spread to his liver. Basically, Grimmjow's bleeding internally."  
"Can you stop it?" I know, it sounds like I don't care in writing. But if you'd been there that day...oh God. I was a mental wreck.  
"That's where the good news comes in. We have already performed three surgeries on him, we have found the two areas of bleeding in his liver, and with this last surgery, we will stop it."  
"What's...with all the blood then? In the tubes?"

"We needed to drain over four liters of blood and other fluids from his abdomen and chest so that we could even safely operate on him. If we hadn't, we'd be running the risk of him suffocating while we operated, because the blood and fluids were surrounding his lungs."

"Will he live?"  
"Yes, he will live." Stark pulled on a new pair of surgical gloves and returned his surgical mask to his mouth.  
"Is there anything I can do for him?"  
"Not right now. But he will pull through this, Schiffer. However, I would highly advise that you take some time off work and spend it with Grimmjow. I'll tell whoever's the head of the ER now that it's an excused and necessary absence."

He sighed and turned back to Grimmjow, then turned to look at me: "It's one of the hardest things to know that your loved one has cancer. While this episode is just that, an episode, it might be a good idea to tell other people about this; you know, start a blog, community events, something. You're overworked as it is; you need something to let the stress out. Besides, things like this weren't meant for one person to bear alone."

* * *

I started a blog for Grimmjow and his condition. People found out about it in our community (it was published in the newspaper; apparently Grimmjow had been somewhat of a celebrity because of his rare disease), told their friends, who told their friends, and so on and so forth. Gifts started to pour in; we were both constantly swamped with e-mails saying things like, "How are you?" "Feel better soon!" "Get well!" Things like that.

The community started events, like 'Run Strong' fundraisers and whatnot to help support Grimmjow and me. They sent meals, hats (Grimmjow had had to shave off his beautiful blue hair), money, all manner of things. And Stark was right. Looking back on what happened between his liver incident and the nine traumatic months that followed, I realize now that there was no way that I could have handled that on my own.

* * *

We were thankful for the gifts, the meals, the money. His condition, however, went up and down, like a roller coaster. Sometimes he would be well enough to be dispatched from the hospital so we could go home together; other times he'd have to stay in the hospital for months at a time. I took tons of work off, spending time with him. I prayed for him, did whatever I could to make him better.

I mean, I still pray for him. Most people would be angry at God for taking a loved one out of their lives. I'm not most people.

Instead of getting mad at God for what he did, I thought about it this way: "God put Grimmjow in my life; for that I'm thankful. I'm grateful that he doesn't have to go through any more suffering. And I'm thankful that I got the chance to know him before he was called back Home."

* * *

In a way, I guess God did answer my prayers.

He just didn't answer them the way I'd expected him to.


	6. Smile

**Some of the events in this story may freak you out, and you may think that some of these events are not real. However, I must tell you, again, that they ARE real and CAN happen. This isn't one of those angsty stories where, like, the kid can cut himself 500 times and still live and whatnot. This is the real deal.**

**I had a reviewer tell me that I was brave for writing about a traumatic experience in my life; I don't think I'm brave. It's just that this person should be remembered for what they struggled through. That's all.**

**Thanks to Satscout for helping me out on my Health paper last night. I actually got something off Teenwire. =D**

* * *

After Grimmjow's whole liver incident, he was hospitalized for quite some time; during this period, he lost a ton of weight, could hardly keep any food down, and was on several different types of pain medications and accepting blood transfusions. We were both really grateful for what the community, and what people outside of our community, were doing for us. They helped pay the bills, helped feed us (although it was mostly me), prayed for us, sent us gifts, and some people even donated blood for us. And it felt good, to know that people cared. Heck, before this, Grimmjow was pretty much an unpopular sob, and now we were getting things, important ones, like blood and prayer, and trivial things, like hats and a new laptop, just because he had cancer. It felt good, knowing people cared.

Two months after Grimmjow had four liters of blood and other fluids drained out of him, and on my birthday to boot, it was happening. AGAIN. This time, though, was even more terrifying than the last; especially seeing how I was there to watch it happen. His fevers had been going up and down, he'd been on a constant scale of a seven on the one to ten pain scale (which was high for him, he usually never got above a five; plus he might have been lying to make me feel less worried), and, well, I kind of knew that something like this was going to happen. I just wish it didn't. Once again, I gotta say that someone up there has a weird sense of humor. Twisted one, too.

Grimmjow had lain down on that table thing (I don't know the correct terminology for that; I'm not a cancer specialist) for his CT scan that fateful day. My birthday. I remember him smiling at me that morning, wishing me a happy birthday even though he was delirious and giggling like a drunk. I remember me holding his burning hand, remember the way his fingers had gripped mine weakly, looking for reassurance.

And then when that eerie female voice told him to, "Now, breathe in," he did so. And...his lungs collapsed. Both of them. He stopped breathing on his own; the doctors were called, and they quickly restored his breathing using a breathing tube. But...that was scary. It was traumatic. I'd thought it was like every other CT scan he'd ever taken, that he'd go in, come back out just as he had. It doesn't sound like much in writing, but to know that something on that destructive level could ever happen, it was insane. (I'm sorry; I don't think I can write much more in this paragraph. It's too hard.)

Thankfully, Grimmjow's brain didn't suffer from the oxygen loss and the cancer on his liver had grown since his last surgeries to stop the internal bleeding, which was back. AGAIN. His liver had grown in size and was being pressed up against other organs. He was ventilated for the rest of that day and part of the early morning of the next, then coughed up the ventilation tube down his throat and was then put on High Flow Oxygen through a nose tube. His heart rate was soaring; it was often on the high end of the scale 130-170; it was like he was working out all the time. It was so sad. And mindblowing, at the same time. Mindblowing to know that Grimmjow had survived against many odds, mindblowing to know that he had a tremendous will to live and constantly surprised the doctors and nurses by continuing to struggle on.

* * *

The words I'm writing now, and the pictures we put up on our blog, do not do what he endured justice. The pictures never showed the surgeries, never completely showed the pain he, and I, were going through. The photos never showed the grueling rounds of chemo he had to go through; they didn't show the numerous X-rays he had or the mass amount of tubes he was hooked up to.

If there was one good thing that resulted from this, I think it would be that we both found God. (I am sorry if you do not believe in God or believe in a different God, like Buddha, or something; this chapter is not intended to be relgiously intolerant.) We started reading the Bible daily, prayed (not just for ourselves, but for other people who were suffering), started looking at a new approach of this whole ordeal. He was writing an entry for the blog on his laptop; let me read it to you.

"Hey everyone. I'm doing better than I was last time I wrote; my fevers aren't quite so high and my body doesn't hurt so much. I just wanted to take a moment now to thank all of you for your support, your gifts, your food (I think we can all agree that Ulquiorra and I would BOTH be dead if you hadn't sent us meals...hospital food tastes like shit.), but most of all, prayer. Without you guys praying for us, I don't think I could have even made it halfway as far as I am now; Ulquiorra probably would have gone insane if you hadn't kept praying. It's pretty intense, the treatment I'm getting and everything, but heck, isn't that the only word that describes me? Intense? It's better to be a firecracker, ya know, have a big BANG! and not be like a lame ol' sparkler, that just goes out and doesn't make any sound or impact.

"I'm gonna start trying to update more in this blog (Ulquiorra's such a slow typer, you'd think he was trying to type...Harry Potter or something, that's how long it takes him just to update once.) now that I'm feeling better, because you know, I hate to inconvenience people. That was sarcasm. Gosh, I wish I could do more of those video thingies that we post on here, ya know, the videos where I TALK? Yeah; I wish I did more of those, because then I wouldn't have to tell you that I was using sarcasm. It gets kinda annoying...

"But anyway, I'd just like to advise all of you, if you have kids, give them a huge hug and a kiss before they go to bed tonight. If you don't have kids, give your spouse/significant other a huge hug and a kiss before bed tonight. If you don't have either of those, go to a loved one and give them a huge hug and kiss before bed tonight. If you don't have one of THOSE, I...give you an Internet hug. A big one (can't give you a kiss because I have a fever). Never let the sun go down on your anger or frustration or worry. Think positive thoughts before you go to sleep. I think Ulquiorra and I both learned that the hard way; the night before I got that CT scan where my lungs collapsed, Ulquiorra was kind of snappy and frustrated because of worrying too much. Pretty ironic, isn't it? Right. But LIVESTRONG! And keep those prayers (and meals) coming!"

* * *

The pictures that were posted on our blog, the pictures of him, of me, of us, of us and the doctors, all the people were smiling. Especially him. It wasn't like the sadistic smile that he used to wear; it was a soft, almost thoughtful smile that made you smile too. Every picture, he was smiling. Even in his sleep. I guess he was trying to smile a lifetime's worth of smiles before he died.

I took a picture of him just an hour before he passed away at home.

He was still smiling.


	7. I Love You

**You may think that I'm making this up to enhance the romantic features of this story, but I am not. The day my friend died was the day with the most amazing and beautiful sunset that I have ever seen in my entire life. The gates of Heaven opened for her. There's no other way to explain it.**

**If you don't already, participate in a LIVESTRONG event in your community. Donate blood to a local blood bank. Read your Bible/Daily Devotional/ whatever religious thing you read. And pray for the world. Grant a wish from the Make A Wish foundation. It sounds weird, I know, but the world could seriously be a much better place if people stopped being selfish and started to give instead of take. Just like the world could be seriously better if everyone prayed for people that they did not know. So...yeah!**

* * *

I'm not quite sure what kept us going during those times. Every time he'd have an episode, like his lungs collapsing or one of his all too frequent fevers taking a turn for the worse, it was always scary and debilitating. And even then, while he was still alive, I think that we all knew, me, him, the doctors, the community, that he was going to die. I think it was somewhere in the backs of our minds and that we just weren't willing to accept it. Because, in all honesty, as Stark had told me while Grimmjow was sleeping, drugged up with some heavy duty medications:

"Mr. Schiffer, I really don't know how to break this to you, but...Grimmjow has a twenty percent chance of survival."  
"What's your estimate?"  
"I still stand by my old statement of nine months. That would give us three more months. However, Mr. Jeagerjacques is a fascinating man. He may just pull through all this; considering all the things he has been through, it would not have surprised me if he had been dead two months ago. He has a tremendous will to live, I'll give that to him. You know, he could be a medical miracle. Surviving against all odds, things like that. Like the freak car crash victims or people who have brain tumors. Some survive. Grimmjow could be another one."

* * *

A medical miracle. That's what I wanted. A breakthrough; not just for the medical world, but for our relationship.

Looking back now, I think Grimmjow was really clingy during that time not only because he had cancer, but because he was afraid I was going to leave him. Going to leave him because he was terribly sick, going to leave him because I didn't love him because he was sick. He didn't voice his opinions to me openly, but sometimes while he was sleeping, he would talk, and say things like, "I don't want you to leave. Stay. Stay, please stay!" Things like that. It was sad. He really thought I was going to leave him. He really thought that I didn't love him because he had cancer and couldn't do anything more than prop himself on his elbow and kiss me from time to time.

During those months, I never fell OUT of love with him; in fact, I would say that I fell more IN love with him. I mean, yeah, he wasn't quite as physically appealing as he had used to be, but he was a lot of things that made up for that. His courage. His bravery. His selflessness.

The last one may surprise you a bit, because some people here think that Grimmjow's a very selfish man with very animalistic instincts, but let me tell you something. One day I asked him how he was feeling due to all the things he had suffered. He responded this way:

"I'm very sad for all that has happened to me."  
"Are you depressed?" I asked him.  
"No."  
"Why do you say that?"  
"Well, isn't depression where you get all sad and cave in because you're so sad and wallowing in self pity?"  
"Yes."  
"Yeah. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be some...I don't know, depressed emo sob who cuts himself because the sadness overtakes him. Isn't that what LIVESTRONG is all about? Isn't that what I'M all about? Heck, if I was depressed, Ora-kun, I'd be a disgrace to LIVESTRONG. Yeah, sure, I could be depressed and feel sorry for myself; I could also stay positive and trust that the outcome of this, whatever it may be, will be for the best. I'll choose the second option, because...you know, it's too damn hard to be depressed, right?"

"So then why are you sad?"  
"I'm sad for you. I'm sad for my family and everybody else that knew me and actually liked me. I mean, yeah, it's hard actually going through the treatment, but at least it's only a physical pain. Everybody else has to feel emotional pain. I think emotional pain is a helluva lot more worse than physical. And I'm sorry I make you sad. I don't mean to."

* * *

That's how selfless he was. Selfless enough to APOLOGIZE to me for making me sad. It was unbelievable. Of course, he may have been the teensiest bit selfish about the meals that were being donated to us, but, you know, that's kind of understandable. Hospital food is crap.

* * *

Grimmjow and I had made a promise when we were "officially" a couple that we would only say "I love you" to each other if we really meant it. I mean, okay, it's romantic and all to say it on the first date, but it doesn't really mean anything then. It's just a spur of the moment thing. We made a promise to each other that we wouldn't say it unless we really, truly, with all our hearts meant it. And, looking back now, I'm glad we did that. Because those three words were so much more meaningful the time we said it than if we had said it on our first date.

He was about to drift off to sleep in the Intensive Care Unit, drugged up as he was with medications. His eyes were already half lidded; his breathing was evening out to a steady _inhale exhale _as opposed to his normally feverish _inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale. _He had a fever that day; a mild one. Come to think of it, I can't exactly remember a day during his illness where he didn't have a fever or pain of some sort.

I remember him reaching out for my hand, which probably felt like ice to him, his stiff fingers slowly wrapping around mine.

"Hey, Ora," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  
"What?" I asked him quietly.  
"I wanna tell you something."

"Yes, Grimmjow?" The nurses and doctors in the room at that time had gotten deathly quiet, as though expecting him to blurt out some really awkward and embarrassing confession. Which, I guess, he was in a sense. Except I didn't think this was awkward or embarrassing.

"I love you." His words were somewhat slurred, because he was already half asleep at that point, but...I can't express the feeling of joy I got from hearing those words.

"I love you, too." I whispered back, almost crying. He smiled at me, a clear and soft smile, and closed his eyes, going off to La-La Land, where there was no pain, no suffering, no drugs. A place where we could be happy and he would have a cancer free body.

The doctors and nurses smiled at us, and left, closing the door slightly behind them.

* * *

Grimmjow loved to watch sunsets. They were his absolute favorite thing to watch. He didn't care if he was delirious, with a raging fever, or in terrible pain, but he wanted to have a sunset. Every day, if possible. We used to watch them from his hospital room, the clouds turning first a golden, then a pale pink, then finally a purple as the sun sank below the horizon.

The day he died at precisely 11:45 AM, had the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. The whole sky was flushed pale red and soft blue as the first stars winked in, the clouds floating with golden underbellies in the prettiest sky that had ever hung over Japan.

That day, the gates of Heaven opened to let him in, and I thought to myself, "Heaven has a new angel."


	8. Scars

**Go to the Make A Wish Foundation's website. Children from all over the world, including ones with terminal illnesses like cancer, are making wishes. You can help donate to grant one of their wishes. There is nothing more precious than knowing you just made someone's day.**

**We all take some things for granted. Like life, love, good health, etc. We take them all for granted, and when we're all sure nothing bad is gonna happen, karma comes back and bites you in the ass. Live like it's your last day on Earth, love like it's the first day of eternity.**

* * *

Well, he made it to twenty-seven. We had a mini celebration for him that we taped and put up on his blog. Family and friends came, gave him presents, wished him the best of health. I don't think he enjoyed his birthday so much for the presents as for the knowledge that people still cared about him, that he wasn't that old crazy lunatic in the hospital living out his last days. I was happy that he got to be happy for that day, and yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was doing a mental countdown. Two more months left.

That day, I gave him one of the most spectacular presents he's ever had, perhaps the best one. He'd always harbored a dream of going to Disneyland (whatever country), but in his condition, it wasn't likely we were going to get to do that. Instead, I asked Wonderwice to go to Disneyland with a video camera and video-tape what he did there. Rides, meeting those people wearing the inflatable suits, the whole shibang. I hooked the camcorder up to the small TV in his hospital room and started to play it. Wonderwice stuffed that device with all the seconds he could get. I swear he did. And dropped it a few times to boot. I don't think Grimmjow minded, though. He was just enjoying himself, and he was so happy, I felt as though a little ray of sunshine had just walked into the room and decided to stay.

* * *

What was staying by his bedside 24 7 like? Well, it was trying to say the least. Trying on both of us. We both lost weight, and while I got lines of worry between my eyebrows, he always seemed to stay relaxed and calm, like it was all part of a plan that he knew was going to happen. Of course, there were times when even that calm demeanor was broken.

One of the most memorable, and terrifying, times when he let his pain show was when he spent almost the whole day bent over the toilet, delirious with a raging fever and nausea so bad I seriously thought he was going to throw up an organ or something. AND he was crying. It was so sad...so very sad.

I remember making a distraction for him when he was in pain, when the pain medications weren't working. I started to buy origami paper, and fold them into cranes. He asked me, "What are you doing?"  
"Making cranes."  
"I'm not blind. I can see. Why?"  
"You know, there's a legend that says if you make a thousand origami birds and hang it up in a sick person's room, they'll get better."

He started helping me make them, even though his fingers were usually stiff and couldn't make them totally perfect. But it was okay. It was fine. As long as it took his mind off the agony going through him, neither of us cared if that wing was okay or if that beak was too pointed.

Even though Stark didn't say anything, and Kaien never let on, I think all of us, me and Grimmjow too, knew that it wasn't about making him better at this point. It was trying to extend his life sentence. Not trying to save him; trying to give him more time with everybody he wanted to spend time with. It was an unconscious thought that we all accepted, and I guess we were all trying to fool ourselves into thinking he'd be a medical miracle and would miraculously heal. He was a fighting spirit for all of us, someone to look up to, and when his body couldn't take any more of the sickness, when he died, I think a little piece of all of us died. A little piece of Team GJ (Grimmjow Jeagerjacques) died and flew up to Heaven with him.

* * *

One of the best, and saddest, conversations we had together was a month before he died. Here. I have it recorded on my blog, but since you can't see it, I'll show you.

"Hey, Ora."  
"What's up, love?"  
"What're you gonna do after I'm gone?"

"Don't say that."  
"It's true."  
"I don't care if it is. Don't jinx yourself."

"But really. What are you gonna do when I'm gone?"  
"...I suppose it's not a question of what I'M going to do, but what YOU want me to do, isn't it?"  
"Maybe..."

We spent a few moments in silence, just staring out his hospital window at the soft waves that brushed up along the shore of the bay.

"I'd miss you." He finally said.  
"I'd miss you, too."  
"But I'd like you to be happy, too, so if you found someone else, that would be okay with me."

"...We'll see how I feel if that time comes around, how's that, sweetheart?" Truth was, I DIDN'T want to be with anyone else.  
"Don't kill yourself, though. Or get all depressed and shit. Because that would suck, and it's not good for you."  
"I know. I won't."

Here he was, all worrying about what I was going to do after he died, and there I was, worrying about what he would do before he died.

"Well, but a day in Heaven is like a lifetime on Earth. That's what it said on the Daily Devotional for today. So, before I know it, you'll be up there with me, right?"  
"Of course." I had to hold back a few tears. I really didn't want him to leave me, but...well, you know. You can't exactly walk up to God and say, "Make him better!" It doesn't work that way. You fall through a set of cracks in life, and, well, you have to go with what you've got. Grimmjow and I both did that; Grimmjow's set of cracks was the most horrible set that I think anybody could have dreamed up, but he made do. And he smiled through it.

* * *

A few days before he passed away, his vision started to go. And he asked me, "Who are your scars for?"  
I'd responded, "Whoever I cry for."

A few hours before he passed away, he sat up in bed and told me that he could "see his harp. It's right there. Can you get it for me? I can't reach it!"  
I told him, "No, sweetheart. That's your harp. You have to go get it."

A few minutes before he passed away, he told me that he wanted me to be happy and that I shouldn't miss him that much, because before we know it, we'll be together again. He also said, "I love you, so very, very much". And it meant so much to me.

A few seconds before he passed away, we kissed for the last time.

And when he passed away, I looked at the string of cranes that we had assembled. Nine hundred and ninety-nine. I picked up the last piece of paper, folded it, and strung it together with the rest of the cranes. Then I hung it up. Good thing I did, because right after that, I dropped into my chair and sobbed.

The tears followed the exact line of my scars.


	9. Time

**If someone you know/love passes away, thank God for putting them in your life. Don't be angry at him. It doesn't work that way. God made your paths cross; if he hadn't done that, you wouldn't have known the person at all.**

**It's always better to love and lose than never to have loved at all, right? Besides, you never know the best things in life until they're gone.**

* * *

Grimmjow's health was never constant the last few months he was alive. It went up and made us all hopeful for a while, then it suddenly dropped for no particular reason and made us all frightened. He never let on to how bad or crappy he was feeling, because I think he knew that on some level, all of us were suffering just as much as he was.

I don't know what it was, maybe because he'd been battling this cancer so long, but people, especially at the high schools in town, began to lull themselves into a false sense of security. Oh, yeah, he's gonna live, I would hear people say on the streets, tossing around his condition way too casually. The people of Japan began to convince themselves that Grimmjow was, indeed, going to live and they were now bolder, more confident, more stable. When we posted on our blog, only the real die-hards (like his family and best friends) posted, and then you'd get the occasional Internet surfer.

I guess it just goes to show you how shallow people can be. They get all concerned over you for a while, and then they just stop. Not because they have priorities or anything, but just because. It was saddening, to see the number of comments and hits on our blog go down. He didn't let it get to him, though. He still smiled, although the smiles had begun to look more strained, more painful, more tired. He was always tired that last month. He could barely make it through a five minute conversation without yawning, and he could hardly keep any of his food down. It was worrying.

The only thing he could do now was sit, propped up by pillows, and click channels. That was about it. And even then, he couldn't stay awake for an hour long program. He'd been dispatched from the hospital because he wasn't having any more major episodes. I think the doctors also knew that he was gonna kick the bucket sometime soon, and that's why they let him return home, with a nurse in tow. We all knew, subconciously, that it was getting close to the end. None of us wanted to accept it.

October rolled into November, which then drifted into December. Truthfully, many people were surprised that he hadn't died yet, and a lot of people were on the edge of their seats, waiting for a massive turnaround or a disappointing death.

And then it happened. The life shattering event we'd all been waiting for.

* * *

Exactly one year after he had been diagnosed with testicular cancer, Grimmjow Jeagerjacques passed away peacefully at home, in our bed, with me and his nurse by his side. It was Christmas, and a soft chill was in the air. Grimmjow was born on October 27, 1981 and left to be with the Lord at 11:45 AM, December 25, 2008.

It's hard to know what to say in these times, because, in all honesty, there are some things that just aren't meant to be said. Like, "My significant other died." "They're gone." "I'll never be able to talk to them again."

Needless to say, I was heartbroken. I was sad, yet I was happy at the same time. I didn't want him to be taken from me, no. But neither did I want him to suffer anymore. And well, let's face it, he was in a better place. A place with no suffering. A place where he didn't have to be drugged up to feel better. A place where he was healthy, and where he had no cancer, and was just enjoying himself.

The day after he died, the word spread to all corners of Japan, and many people posted on our blog. I mean, if you count the posts from the previous entries and then look at the number of people who posted for this one entry, there were more comments on the news that he had passed than on all the other ones combined.

* * *

Now, looking back on what happened, I...realize that there was not much more that I could do for him. Yes, I could have been there more. Yes, I could have followed up with Kaien and Stark a lot more. But other than that, I could not have loved him any more than I did. I could not have supported him any more than I did.

I almost wish we had never met. If we hadn't, Grimmjow might still be alive. But it's no use blaming myself at this point. I can't bring him back. I can't ask God to bring him back. God puts people in our paths so that we can meet them, so that we can be grateful we met them. Being angry at God couldn't help me in any way, shape, or form.

I...don't really know what to say. I'm still shell shocked about it. Instead, I'll show you a recording that Grimmjow and I made, of him answering questions that we got in the mail. About him, about me, about us, about his condition, yadda yadda yadda:

"**Dear Grimmjow, what's yours and Ulquiorra's relationship like? My boyfriend and I aren't getting on too well, and I'm not even sick! How do you do it? -Depressed."**

"Well, dear Depressed, I don't know why Ulquiorra still sticks around, but heck, I'm not complaining. If he wants to stay around, then so let him! God knows I'd rather be stuck in a hospital room with him for several days than my mother. Oh God...no offense, Mom. But anyway, I think you kind of need real devotion to stick to something. It's like George Bush. I mean, if he said he was gonna do something, then by God, he did it, regardless of the consequences. You gotta stick to your convictions, I suppose. If you don't, a relationship is never gonna work out. Hope that helps."

**"Dear Grimmjow, do you think you will die? -Worried."**

"Do I think I will die? I hope not. No. I don't think I'm going to die. But that's just me. I mean, I feel fine right now, but I don't know how I'll feel in the future. But I'll stay positive, and even til the very end (assuming I am still conscious) I'll be saying "I'm not gonna die!" Because that's just me, ya know? I don't give up that easily."

The next question is a really personal question, and, so...I'll probably end the chapter after that, because I don't think I can bear to write much more of this, but, here goes nothing:

**"Dear Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, what do you imagine Heaven will be like? -ReligiousFreak"**

My response was: "Heaven will be beautiful, nice, happy, every good adjective from A to Z. There won't be pain or suffering or chemotherapy or anything, because everybody will be healthy and happy."

Grimmjow's response was: "Heaven will be a place with Ulquiorra. And all of my friends. And my parents. But Ulquiorra most of all. And we'd never have to sleep, so I could see him and be with him all the time. Time that I could make up for not being around as much here."

* * *

Time. There's never enough of it. And I guess you don't really know how much you love someone until they're gone.

And that's when you really notice how weak you are without them.


	10. Reflections

So now, it's been two years since Grimmjow passed away. I don't have dreams of becoming a plastic surgeon anymore. I've decided to remain on the ER.

Why, you ask? Well, it's simple, really. The ER was where I had my first encounter with Grimmjow. The ER is a place where you save people's lives. But it's a lot more than that. If you look deeper, the ER is actually a place where you can save lives, heal hearts, grant wishes. Yeah, sure, most of the time it's saving lives, but with Grimmjow and me, it was a lot more than that.

After Carrot Top and him broke up because he was having those symptoms, he was pretty much brokenhearted. I healed that for him. I stayed by him even when he was too sick to talk, stayed by him when his lungs collapsed, stayed by him through a lot of things that I'm not quite sure I really had the strength to grasp on my own. I don't think there is a couple in this world that loves each other as much as we loved each other then. I honestly do not think that. Relationships these days are all about being wanted.

"I want you." "I want this." "I want that."

Ours wasn't like that. It was a relationship in which the want had turned to need, and it was almost as though neither of us could live without the other one. I mean, it doesn't sound like much in writing, but it's true. Relationships don't mean as much as they used to. And, half of the time, they end up in divorces or broken hearts or abusive scars and a child stuck in the crossfire. I don't know why it's this way. It just is. And it is so sad. Marriage is a commitment; it's not always fun and games and breakfast in bed. You actually have to commit to someone, to something, and you have to be willing to stick it out through to the very end, no matter how bad things may get. That's the beauty of it all. You have to be strong to enter a marriage and stay faithful, otherwise it's not really a marriage then.

The ER is a place where you can grant wishes. Save a life, grant a person's wish. Heal a heart, grant a person's wish. Have Wonderwice go to Disneyland and film what he did there with a camcorder? Sure. That's a wish too. And it's not about what the wish is, it's about trying and giving.

* * *

Am I depressed? The truthful answer to that is no. I am glad I had the opportunity to meet Grimmjow. I am glad I got to get up close and personal with him. I'm not happy he's dead, but he's in a better place now. A place where every year here is like a minute and where he has no suffering, no pain, no drugs. A place where he's happy, and before we know it, I'll be there too, and it'll be as though nothing had changed. Except we'll be perfect.

Grimmjow changed my life in so many ways. Now I know what it's like to lose a loved one. Now I know what it's like to see your dreams and heart shatter before your very eyes. Now I know what it's like to truly miss someone.

But I also know what it's like to have truly loved. I know what it's like to be committed, to be faithful, to be in a relationship where it's not all about wanting things or about having sex. I realize that there are a lot better things in this world than sex, than wants, than desires. There are so many good things in this world that we all take for granted, like good health, loving families, being able to be perfectly functional. And so many other things.

It only takes the course of a year to have those things stripped away.

So, open your eyes. Open your eyes and look around. Don't look at the peeling paint on your walls, don't look at that dent on your fender. Really open your eyes, and see the beauty of all that's around you. Because, really, we never realize how good we are in life until everything we have is taken away.

And anyway, God didn't create our eyes to see the evil in the world. He made them so that we could see the beauty that He created for us to look at.

I challenge you to reflect on what you have learned from reading this story and how you can apply it to real life. And love. Love more than you do now. The world might be a better place then; just as God and Grimmjow and all the other angels in Heaven intended it to be.

**_"Speaking the truth in love, we will grow up." -Ephesians 4:15_**


End file.
